


That Time of the Month

by Mawgon



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Gen, Implied Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, fem!Bilbo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 21:00:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5020357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mawgon/pseuds/Mawgon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo didn't only forget her handkerchiefs at home, she also forgot any and all female hygiene products. Already in pain from riding a pony, which makes muscles she didn't even know she had feel sore, she now has to cope with cramps. And blood. And that while she has to hide the fact that she's female from the company and, especially, Thorin - as he would certainly think even less of her if he knew her to be a woman. </p><p>Or would he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Time of the Month

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure I have seen a Hobbit Kink Meme prompt for this or something similar, but can't find it anymore. Please send me a link if you happen to know the prompt.

Bilbo felt horrible. She still had not gotten used to riding, muscles she hadn’t even known she had ached, and now she felt the cramps that always heralded the monthly menace. 

She had to hide it from Thorin – in fact, she had so far succeeded in hiding the fact that she was female from him, and hoped she would be able to for some months. He was descending enough even while believing her to be male. 

So she waited for him to announce they were going to make camp for the night before she got off her pony and searched her rucksack for something that she could substitute for a pad. Maybe a sock would do ... filled with some forest moss, instead of the cotton she was used to ... the rag Bofur had given her was a poor substitute for her handkerchiefs. That dirty piece of cloth would get nowhere near her ladyparts! 

“Bilbo! What happened?!”

She turned around to find Ori gaze at her in terror. 

“What happened?”

“Your saddle is full of blood!”

Oh, Yavanna! This was so embarrassing! “I, um, it’s nothing!”

“There are some illnesses that cause bleedings of the intestines”, muttered Oin. Apparently Ori’s outcry had been loud enough for him to hear. “Let me have a look at you.”

“You are not having a look at me!” Bilbo stated firmly. “No need to worry, I am fine.”

“But ... the blood ...” Ori seemed in a state of shock. Oin should take a look at him, instead. 

“I’m quite surprised none of you have figured out by now, but I’m a woman. Bleeding is something we do once a month or so. Quite normal, I assure you. Can I please get some privacy, now?” She must resemble a ripe tomato by now. 

When she turned away from Ori, she saw Thorin stare at her with an unreadable expression on his face. She knew what it was, though. Must be contempt. Maybe some anger because she hadn’t bothered to clear up the misunderstanding. 

She marched towards some trees that looked like they could provide the desired privacy. 

“Bilbo!”

If Thorin had called her “burglar” as he usually did, she might not have reacted, but calling her by her first name was such a surprise that she stopped. 

“I have some handkerchiefs you can use.”

He gave her a neatly ironed stack of white linen handkerchiefs. “Just in case you need something”, he mumbled, then fled towards the designated campsite. 

This was decidedly strange! Maybe she ought to ask Gandalf whether he had messed with Thorin’s head. 

One of her woolen socks, wrapped in one of the fine linen handkerchiefs Thorin had given her, made quite the nice pad, a lot less scratchy than the wool on its own would have. She decided to not dwell on the impropriety of using a male’s handkerchiefs for this. 

With clean trousers on, she felt almost like a respectable hobbit again. Almost. 

When she returned, there was a campfire, and dinner was boiling in a big kettle, with a smaller kettle next to it.

“Can I help?” she asked Bombur who was stirring the kettle. 

“No, thank you. How are you?”

“I’m fine! I already said so!”

“Then you don’t want a hot stone?” Kíli asked, pointing at a round rock in the fire. 

“Oh. Well, now, that’s different. I would very much like one, thank you.” She got her bedroll out and had sat down on it when Kili handed her the stone, wrapped in what must be one of his shirts. “Something else you need?”

“No, really, I am fine.”

“Are you sure? Uncle Thorin has gone looking for some bear’s foot. And yarrow. We are not sure which you prefer ...”

She stared at him. If she saw Gandalf again, she would definitely ask him about all of this. It seemed like someone had stolen the dwarves and replaced them with well-mannered copies. Especially Thorin, but Kíli wasn’t this thoughtful usually, either. “I don’t know what bear’s foot is, I usually use lady’s mantle, but I guess I can try it.”

When Thorin returned she saw that the herb he had collected was ady’s mantle, so apparently the dwarves called it bear’s foot. 

Bilbo fell asleep with the thought that she’d likely wake up from this weird but pleasant dream, to find that Thorin was actually yelling at her. 

 

She woke up when the sun was high on the sky. Thorin was watching her with that strange expression on his face. 

“Good morning!” Covering her mouth with her hand, she yawned. She had slept very long. Usually that would have caused Thorin to rudely awaken her.

“Good morning.” Thorin nodded. “Do you want to go to the forest now? I will have a cup of tea ready when you return.”

Bilbo thanked him, took her backpack and hastily made her way to the small wood. As it often happened, her clothes were soaked through, and she congratulated herself on having been so clever to put on the bloodied trousers for sleeping, so now she had a clean one left. 

It was a nuisance at home, but here on the street, it was really nasty. Or would have been, if not for Thorin’s strange change of personality. 

Having changed into the clean trousers, she carried the bloody garment with outstretched arm. Unfortunately, the little creek was on the other side of the camp, which meant she would have to risk being seen with this embarrassing mess. 

When she arrived at the campfire, there was indeed a cup of herbal tea ready and waiting for her, and Thorin shoved it into her free hand, while grabbing her trousers out of her other hand. “I will take care of that.”

She was so surprised that she simply sat down and stared at him as he walked away. 

Dori sat in some distance, knitting, so she turned towards him. “What happened to Thorin?”

“What do you mean what happened to him?” Dori inquired, putting the scarf he was knitting away. 

“Well, I don’t mean to be rude, but he is not usually so ... acommodative.”

“He didn’t know you are female. An easy mistake to make.”

“How so?” She had been wondering about that for quite a while. Among all of Thorin’s insults, he had never even called her girly or effeminate. “I mean, it’s not that I look mannish.”

“Um. I don’t want to be rude. Thing is, you did look a bit ...”

Suddenly, she knew. “It’s my short hair, isn’t it? Of course that would be it. “It’s too curly, it would be untameable if I had it longer!”

Dori nodded. “Didn’t mean to question your hair care decisions.”

He excused himself and walked away, leaving Bilbo alone at the campfire, with all the other dwarves busying themselves one way or the other in the surroundings. 

She was only mildly surprised to find another heated stone in her bedroll. This was very weird, but her stomach cramps were severe enough for her to mostly feel gratitude. She would worry about it later. 

Thorin returned and put her trousers on the iron rods that usually held the kettle over the fire. Then, he stood next to her and cleared his throat. 

“Miss Baggins – I owe you an apology.”

“Oh, yes?”

“I cannot even begin to imagine what kind of self-restraint you must possess to be so friendly and polite while enduring such pain. And I am indeed very grateful that you did not rip my head off.”

Bilbo frowned. “Dwarf women do that?”

“Not normally. Dwarf men are not usually so foolish to ask a woman to do anything strenous that time of the month.”

“Dwarf women do not work while they have their ... you know?” She had heard of women who spent the day in bed, and as a gentlehobbit could have afforded the luxury, but she usually found it better to distract herself with gardening. 

“Only if they want to. My sister usually works in the forge. Says it helps her cope with the pain. However, I do not think riding provides the same relief.”

“It doesn’t. Except that the pain in my muscles somewhat distracted me from the other pain.”

Thorin bowed. “The more I am indebted to you for sparing my life. Please do ask for an escort if you decide you want to go for a walk. We shall camp here until you are better.”

He turned to leave, but Bilbo called him back. “Thorin?”

“Yes?”

“Why did you even mistake me for male? Am I that ugly?”

He blushed. “It is just that you ... seemed a bit soft and squeamish and ...” He cleared his throat. “I did not think you capable of enduring such pain. Of course, I was wrong! Please accept my apologies!”

“I accept.” She stood up. “Now, will you accompany me on a walk?” Working in a forge seemed like a good idea. Hitting something with a hammer was what she often felt like during this time of the month. Maybe she could try it out when they had reclaimed Erebor.


End file.
